Cynthia Harrison
Novelist
Tag: depression
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Happiness Descending
He wouldn’t give me the money. I had a gun on him and my calm must have told him I knew how to use it, but he didn’t care. “I’ve been feeling like it’s time to die lately, anyway,” he said. “So shoot me. You’ll be doing me a favor.” I lowered the gun. I…
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Coping with the Holidays
My beloved Granny died on Christmas day many years ago. I remember going to the hospital in the morning, as we were visiting Al’s family later than afternoon. I walked into her room and she wasn’t there. I’d seen the flowers I’d sent out at the nurse’s station, so I had a foreboding feeling, but…
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Coming Out of the Cold Dark Cave
I woke up this morning and nothing hurt. Not my heart, not my knee, not my spine, not my belly with its girdle of barbed wire. True, I’d only had six hours of sleep, but I’ll take it. Nothing hurts. All is well. Like a miracle I am me again. And all it took was one…
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Paint It Black
Not sure when things started going dark. Knew it was the medication for almost daily migraines since the accident. Knew I didn’t have clinical depression, knew I was lucky, knew I had some stuff to sort out but felt up to the task. It was just … I felt sad. Every day. For maybe a…
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Checking Out of the Depression Hotel
Spent the weekend at the Depression Hotel. Beat myself until I was black and blue and did the sort of inner questioning that some people have no patience for, including myself. Becoming more patient is one of those things I am still working on. So when I go there, to the bottom, I am impatient for…